


Camp Vernon Lake

by narcissablaxk



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Ben as a Cop AU, Camping AU, F/F, Friday the 13th AU, George as a camp counselor AU, Gore, M/M, Probably with blood, Some Romance, Teenager AU, lots of blood, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: "Mark my words, it's only a matter of time before someone up there dies."Camp Vernon Lake is for troubled teens and young adults, and every year, George Washington makes it his mission to give those kids a better life, at least for the summer. But when someone starts killing his campers, he has to make sure they survive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts).



Summers in the woods always dawned crisp and quiet; birds sang softly, as if pulling the members of their home from a peaceful slumber while the sunlight gently prodded sleepy eyes open. There was something about the clean pine air, the spice of wilderness and freedom that made Camp Vernon Lake seem like it existed in a world all its own. 

George, a self-proclaimed morning person, found a serenity in watching the sun rise over the lake, the soft ripples in the water just barely moving, obscuring a world that existed beneath the expanse of clear water. He liked to sit in the little rocking chair on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, and Captain by his side, panting ruefully from chasing a bird out of a nearby tree. 

The silence made it idyllic, but that silence wouldn’t last very long. 

He heard Alexander’s footsteps before the young man announced himself. Captain, at his feet, perked up his ears but didn’t bother to lift his head. 

“Sir, our bus of campers should be arriving soon,” his voice was hushed, as if he didn’t want to interrupt the pensive reverie he thought George was surely caught up in; but George had been waiting for this announcement. He took one final swig of his lukewarm coffee and stood, the chair rocking emptily as he did. Captain followed his master. 

“How many campers do we have this summer?” he asked Alex as he moved into the cabin, the boy and the dog close behind. “How many repeats?” 

“Eight campers, sir,” Alex said. “Three repeats.” 

Three. George sighed, placing his cup in the sink and leaning against the counter. “Let me guess - William, Sarah, and Anna.” 

“Full points, sir,” Alex deadpanned. “Although I think it’s fair to note that they did make considerable progress last summer.” 

George nodded but didn’t speak, waving his hand at Alex’s optimistic sentiment. Sure, those three campers made progress last summer, but their return meant they hadn’t reached them as well as he hoped. 

Camp Vernon Lake was first and foremost a camp where attendees could escape the humdrum city life and become one with nature; at least, that’s what the brochure said. But it was really a camp for troubled teens and young adults, mostly wards of the state that were too bothersome to be placed in a foster home for any amount of time that could provide them with a stable life. Instead, they were in group homes, where they governed themselves, and sent into the woods for the summer for hard work, fresh air, and, hopefully, a new outlook that could get them into a foster home. 

“Five new ones, though?” he finally asked, reaching for his clipboard and flipping through the pages. “Mary Smith?”

“Anger issues,” Alex supplied helpfully. “Emotionally abusive home, but that’s all her file really says.” 

“Hide the weapons and keep them locked up,” George warned. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Why have I heard the name Cyrus before?” George asked as Alex poured himself his own cup of coffee. “He’s not a repeat?” 

Alex grimaced, sprinkling sugar into the warm beverage. “Not a repeat, but you’ve definitely heard his name before.” At George’s questioning look, Alex set down his cup and faced him fully. “Cyrus Reed, he’s the boy that -”

“Tried to rob that trucker, from the news,” George finished. “I remember.” 

“Apparently he ran away from home,” Alex added, turning back to his cup, “so the court said this was his last chance to get back on track or else he gets prison time.” 

George didn’t answer, but nodded and closed the file. He didn’t need to say that Cyrus reminded him of the man standing before him, three years out of his own stint at Camp Vernon Lake after running away from home and robbing a convenience store. Alex already knew; he turned away from George and cleared his throat. “I’m going to make sure that Gilbert has the cooks in line and ready for lunch.” 

“I’ll meet you and Gilbert at the entrance in twenty minutes,” George promised. 

“Yes, sir.” 

***

“Heads up, that loony camp is opening today,” Arnold’s voice seemed to be a louder volume early in the morning, especially when Ben was only on his first cup of coffee. “Rookies are always on call specifically for that place, so keep your eyes open, Tallmadge.” 

“Loony camp?” Ben asked leadingly, hoping for clarification. Arnold regarded him with an incredulous eye that was half surprise and half knowing arrogance; he wanted to tell the new rookie cop the story of the camp he hated so much, but, because he was a superior officer and the single largest ego in the state, he also wanted to make it seem like this should be common knowledge to the man who had never lived in Virginia before three weeks ago. 

“You mean you’ve never heard of Camp Vernon Lake?” he asked, in that same manufactured, hushed tone that teenagers adopt around a campfire when they’re telling a ghost story. It was the same tone that people used when they said things like ‘you’ve never heard of the Wolfman?’ 

Ben had to resist rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “I doubt the story of Camp Vernon Lake made it all the way up to New Haven, so...no,” he said dryly. 

Arnold ignored his tone and took up residence on the edge of Ben’s desk, fixing his eyes on a spot far off in the distance. “Every summer, teens that the courts don’t want to deal with anymore get sent to Camp Vernon Lake,” he began gruffly. “Every single damn summer those kids wreak havoc on the wildlife, and every summer there are complaints about the noise, complaints about safety -”

“Safety? Are they dangerous?” 

“Why do you think they send them into the wilderness, Benjamin?” Arnold snapped. “Either way, every summer we get calls about fights, about parties, about thefts. It’s only a matter of time before someone up there dies.” 

“Jesus…” Ben muttered, trying to hide the exclamation in his cup of coffee. 

“Mark my words, Tallmadge, someone up there is gonna die,” Arnold wagged a finger at him admonishingly. “They’re all a bunch of entitled kids who just can’t live by the damn rules. Besides, I hear that there’s a ghost that haunts that camp.” 

“A ghost?” Ben asked, setting his cup down. “First your story is all about rowdy kids and now there’s a ghost?” 

Arnold shrugged. “Apparently a camper up there got lost in the woods years ago, before Vernon Lake was a camp for criminals. Back in the sixties or something, some kid went up into the woods with his friends for summer camp on the lake and never came out. Some people said he drowned, other people said he went into the woods and died of exposure. Either way, it makes for a good ghost story.” 

“Not when you tell it,” Ben laughed. “What is this, Friday the 13th?” 

“It’s August 12,” Arnold replied, uncomprehendingly. “And it’s a Monday.” 

***

Evening fell like a thunderclap - so suddenly George blinked and the day was gone. Before he knew it, he was sitting on that same rocking chair again, looking out onto the lake, Alex and Gilbert sitting on the steps below him, fingers tangled together, Gilbert’s head on Alex’s shoulder. 

“I think we’ve got a pretty good group this year, don’t you?” George asked, disrupting the silence suddenly enough that Captain’s ears perked up at the sound. “I’m surprised at Mary Smith. You told me she had anger issues, Alex.” 

“She does, sir,” Alex replied. “Don’t let those big doe eyes fool you; she’s been arrested on two counts of assault with a deadly weapon.” 

“That tiny girl?” George asked incredulously. 

“It’s always the little ones, sir,” Gilbert murmured, already half asleep against Alex’s shoulder. 

“And the Woodhull brothers?” Alex asked. “Did Richard say why he made his sons attend this year?” 

George sighed. “Richard is a very strict parent,” he reasoned. “Apparently he was afraid that Abraham was using drugs, and thought Thomas was supplying him with them, it all sounds very artificial.” 

“He knows he shouldn’t be misusing this program, right?” Alex prompted, an angry edge to his voice. “There are only so many open spots, and there are people out there that need them. Disobeying your father is not a crime.” 

“I know, Alex,” George soothed as Gilbert tightened his hand around Alex’s. “I’ll talk to the boys and see what’s going on.” 

***

Mary woke to the sound of dripping. It took her a few moments of squinting into the darkness to figure out exactly where she was; her mind kept telling her she was still at home, but no, she couldn’t see the painted pink door of her bedroom, or the slightly open door of her closet. There was nothing but more beds, and the wooden walls of a cabin. 

Drip...drip...drip…thud...thud...thud...

Was it raining outside? She sat up, pulling the blanket closer around her as the chill of the mountains snuck in; but it shouldn’t be cold in here, unless…

The loud slam of the screen door echoed throughout the cabin and she jumped, her hands tightening into fists around the blanket. Around her, other campers started stirring, the loud sound pulling them from deep sleep. 

“What the hell…” a voice she didn’t quite recognize yet floated toward her in the darkness. “Why is the door open?” 

Whoever it was stood at the edge of her bed, her long dark hair falling to the middle of her back, and walked toward the door, still slamming shut with the wind. Suddenly, Mary realized the thudding sounds she’d just heard were footsteps. But if everyone was in bed…she shivered. 

“Wait,” she called, and the dark haired girl froze, turning back to her. “I heard footsteps.” 

“Now?” the blonde girl in the bed next to her, Mary thought her name was Sarah, clutched her blanket tighter. “But…who was it? Did you see?” 

Mary shook her head. The dark haired girl sighed, her hip jutting out as she surveyed Mary critically. “So you don’t want me to shut the door?” There was a sarcastic edge to her voice that Mary didn’t like. 

Mary sneered. “I’m just saying be careful, Tomb Raider, do what you want.” 

The girl moved toward her fast enough that tendrils of her dark hair landed on Mary’s shoulder “What did you call me?” 

Immediately, Sarah was on her feet and forcing them apart. “Alright, let’s try to stay calm. It’s only the first day, I don’t think we need to be fighting already.” 

Drip...drip…drip….

“What the hell is that noise?” The dark haired girl turned away from Mary, their spat momentarily forgotten, and back toward the door. “It’s not raining outside.” 

For a moment, no one spoke, and a chill settled over Mary. Something was wrong. The door slammed again, punctuating the dripping sounds with a loud bang that made everyone jump. Mary’s eyes searched the darkness again, looking for the source of the noise. She felt like she was listening to an off-key violin - something wasn’t right, but not in the same way that moving a bed out of place would feel. This was...fundamentally wrong.

“Guys…” the dark haired girl’s voice was deceptively soft when she whispered. She turned back to Mary and Sarah. “Wasn’t there….wasn’t there another girl?” 

“Patience is her name,” Sarah supplied helpfully, her voice just as quiet. Mary didn’t speak; she was staring at the door, listening for noises. As if she had asked for it, a branch outside cracked.

“Someone’s out there,” Mary said suddenly, her eyes on the door. “Someone is out there...they were just in here, I heard them.” 

The dark haired girl grabbed Mary’s arm, her hand clammy. “Maybe Patience was just...sneaking out?” 

No one spoke, but Mary knew no one believed it. It was too easy, too simple. The door slammed again and everyone jumped, the silence heavy and wanting. They were all waiting for something, but for what, they couldn’t be sure.

“Someone get a flashlight,” Mary said finally. “We’ll feel better if we can see.” 

Sarah fumbled for the table beside her bed, just out of her reach, and passed over a flashlight. Mary clicked it on and shined it toward the door, held just slightly ajar by a gust of wind. On the floor, dark and obvious, were smears of mud, like footprints, and something else…

“Is that blood?” the dark haired girl asked, pulling Mary’s other arm even closer to her. 

“Yeah,” Mary said softly. “That’s blood.” 

It was mixed into the mud, but the sight of it made her sick. She knew, now, what the dripping sound was. She turned the flashlight toward Patience’s bed. 

Their screams shook birds from their roosts. 

***

Ben shuddered, turning away from the mangled body of Patience Wright, a seventeen year old girl, sent to this camp for theft, and towards the man he recognized as the lead counselor. The man surveyed the girl’s body with a sallow face, his jaw tight. 

As a cop, Ben knew he had to become hardened to the sight of blood and death but - her throat was cut, roughly and deeply, the sinews and muscle tissue ravaged by a serrated blade. The girl’s blue, clear eyes were open, wide in horror, her hands covered in her own blood, where she had obviously tried to stem her own bleeding. 

“Is there anyone you know of that would want to do this to her?” he asked George, who blinked and turned toward Ben like he hadn’t even noticed he was there. 

“Today was our first day, Officer, I didn’t know much about her, much less her mortal enemies.”

“Of course,” Ben said, chagrined. He turned away from him, but turning away put him in full view of the corpse. He grimaced and turned away again, trying to find something to do that didn’t make him feel insensitive or useless. 

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Would you like a cup of tea?” George asked. “You look a little...shaken.” 

The tea was hot, but soothing, and Ben sipped it gratefully while the coroner removed the body from the bed. George was surveying him across the table, but he pretended not to notice. He supposed he deserved the scrutiny, especially after acting like this was the first crime scene he’d ever seen with his own two eyes. 

“I take it you’re a rookie cop,” George said quietly. 

Crap. “Yeah,” Ben replied with a sigh. “That obvious?” 

“The Vernon Lake Police always send rookies when the camp calls,” George shrugged. “They’re used to getting calls about fights or runaways, but probably not murder.”

Arnold’s voice came back to Ben suddenly. ‘It’s only a matter of time before someone up there dies.’ 

“Yeah,” Ben laughed, the sound shaky and uncertain, “I guess not.” 

“Look, Officer Tallmadge,” George said, putting his cup of tea down, “I understand that this camp as a reputation, but I know it wasn’t one of these kids. There are no available weapons in this camp, unless you know where they’re stored, and all of their bags are searched when they get here. They simply don’t have the...hardware to do this kind of damage.” 

“Look, Mr. Washington, I believe you, but I still need to talk to them,” Ben said. “Just to make sure that I covered all of my bases.” 

George’s face went stony. “Of course. We can start with the girls.” 

***

“You’re sure you heard footsteps leave the cabin,” Ben pressed, his pen poised to take notes. 

“I’m positive,” Mary insisted, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder to twist in her left hand while her right hand wiped away any remnant of tears she could find. “I heard the dripping, and then I heard footsteps. I heard the door close.” 

“But everyone else was asleep,” Ben said, scribbling with his pen. 

“Everyone was asleep until the door slammed,” Mary said firmly. “And then Sarah woke up, and…” 

“Anna,” Ben finished. “And you saw them get out of bed?” 

The questioning continued for hours, until Ben’s throat ached from talking and the campers were starting to fall asleep in their chairs. But the answers were all the same; no, they hadn’t seen anyone, but they heard footsteps. Everyone was in bed, accounted for. The camp counselors were all in bed, accounted for. None of them did it. 

So who did?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our body count starts to rise.

Spending time at the lake was supposed to be therapeutic, Mary reflected dimly as she kicked her foot in the frigid water. At least, that’s what Alex told her. The still water was supposed to make your soul feel stationary, he’d said, his hand on her shoulder. And perhaps it did make her feel still, she admitted. But stillness did not equate to comfort. 

Someone murdered Patience in her bed, with three other people sleeping soundly around her. No one heard a thing, and she died, alone, choking on her own blood. No lake was going to calm her. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the gaping wound of her neck, the skin torn to shreds, her hands cramped into crooked claws where she’d tried to hold her neck together.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice shook her out of her thoughts and even though she was glad to push the repeating reel of screams to the back of her mind, the man standing behind her was still unwelcome. 

“I suppose someone told you I was here?” she replied stiffly, turning away from William Bradford and back toward the water. 

“Maybe they did,” Bradford sat beside her, his leg touching hers. “Maybe they didn’t.” 

“Not to interrupt your juvenile attempt at...whatever this is, but did you need something from me?” Mary asked, studiously staring out over the water and not at Bradford’s face. She could feel him deflate, his childish attempt at flirtation rebuffed. 

“No, you’re just the only girl here that I don’t know, so I thought -” 

“You mean I’m the only girl left,” Mary corrected. “No offense, Bradford, but I know your story. I’m not interested in fucking a failed gangbanger.” 

She didn’t have to look at Braford to know he was furious; she could feel the anger coming off of him in waves. Instead of engaging, she looked out over the water, hoping that Alex’s prediction of solitude and silence would happen soon. Instead, Bradford stood up, where he could tower over her.

“You’re not the only one who can do research, Mary Smith,” he sneered. “Maybe a gangbanger is the best your white trash ass is ever going to get.” 

Far too used to this line of derogatory statements, Mary stood to match Bradford’s posture. “And what exactly have you heard about me, William? Enlighten me.” 

He couldn’t seem to resist; he leaned away from Mary, his arms crossed, the picture of smug confidence. “It’s not like your story’s a new one,” he teased. “Daddy’s little girl grows up and realizes that daddy is just white trash drug dealer? What, did he make you sell for him? Did he make you put that pretty face to some good use?” 

He caught her face in the tight grip of his large, rough hands, squeezing her cheeks like one would a baby. Mary gave him three seconds to let go, the time it took her to take a deep breath, but when he didn’t, she grabbed him by the wrist and yanked, pulling her face free of his hold, shifting her hand so she had a tight grip on his index finger and nothing else. 

She took great pleasure in yanking the offending digit back, farther and farther, as he squirmed, unable to free himself. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he cried, pulling away from her violently enough that she finally released him, trying to suppress her satisfied grin. Instead, she fixed him with the same doe-eyed stare she gave everyone else. 

“What?” she asked. “Didn’t think a drug mule could protect herself?” she asked, stepping closer to him. “Unless you want that finger snapped off,” she lunged toward his hands again, and Bradford retreated sharply enough that he slipped off the pier and into the water. She watched him bob up to the surface like an apple. “Stay the hell away from me.” 

***

Cyrus leaned against the trunk of the tree, inhaling the woodsy scent deep into his lungs. For as long as he could remember, he loved being outside. When he was a child, he would camp out in the backyard, his bottom half inside his little makeshift tent while he stared at the stars. That same pensivity grew into a restless loneliness as he got older, and by the time he was a teenager, Cyrus spent more time on the roof of his house than he did inside. 

It didn’t help that his mother was always high, or that his father walked out of the house one day and never came home; being on the roof, being away from the noise, it made him feel more human. 

He lowered himself to the ground, listening to the rustling of the leaves under his feet. It soothed him, the sweeping symphony of the woods, where his thoughts could be heard. 

A crack echoed through the trees and Cyrus paused, craning his neck this way and that to find the source of the sound. He went still, his eyes focusing on nothing so his ears could better listen. 

Another crack, this one closer. 

With a movement so quick it almost knocked him over, Cyrus scrambled to his feet, tugging his little pack with him. He had intended to spend most of his time out here, but if these sounds were any indication -

Another crack. 

He bolted into the trees, glancing back behind him when he could, trying to catch a glimpse of what was chasing him. He never saw much, a sleeve here, or a boot there, but something was following him. Steadily but purposefully. 

And he had a blade. 

***

George slid a sandwich over the counter to Ben, trying to suppress a yawn as he did. “Thank you for coming back to keep me updated, Officer Tallmadge,” he said, the breathiness of his voice holding the yawn he’d tried to hide. “I appreciate your attentiveness.” 

“It was no problem, really,” Ben said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “I know that you were...shaken, by the events -” 

“I just want to keep these kids safe,” George corrected. He was shaken, but the rookie cop didn’t need to know that. 

“Well, Mr. Washington, it seems like all of your campers were accounted for during the possible time of death frame,” Ben said, checking his notebook briefly before addressing him fully. “The girls are harder to pinpoint, as they were all allegedly asleep, but none of them were noticed as missing.” 

“That’s good,” George sighed. “I didn’t think any of them had anything to do with it anyway, but -”

“But,” Ben agreed, “My superiors seem to think that the most likely suspects are your campers, which means I’m being told to focus my resources on your kids.” 

George’s face tightened, and Ben immediately rushed to add, “I know they didn’t do this, even if my commanding officer is convinced, I’m not.” 

George tried to smile at the sentiment, but all that came out was a pained grimace. “Benjamin, these kids have all been questioned by cops before. None of them will cooperate as long as they can avoid it; but they came here to get help. They wouldn’t do this.” He dropped his head to his hands, his eyes studying the knots in the tired wood table. “I know that no one trusts them, because if someone breaks a rule once, surely they can again, but -”

Ben’s hand landed on George’s wrist. “I understand,” he replied. “One of my friends went to this camp a few years ago. I know about the good work your program does. I’m not going to let anything happen to these kids.” 

George smiled, trying to figure out a reason for Ben’s hand to stay on his wrist just a moment longer, but before he could say anything, the cabin door slammed open and Alex was standing in the doorway. His eyes immediately landed on Ben’s hand on George’s wrist. 

“Not to interrupt, whatever this is,” he raised his eyebrows at George, who sighed, “but something is wrong with your patrol car, Officer.” 

Ben’s hand immediately left George’s arm. “What do you mean?” he asked, rising from his seat, his hand already moving toward his gun. 

Alex gestured toward the door. “I mean, I don’t think you’re leaving here anytime soon.” 

George had to follow them both out the door as Ben scrambled to put a visual to the warning Alex issued. The patrol car was sitting where he left it, with all four doors open, the entire scene saturated in the unsettling feeling of fundamental wrongness. It took only a moment to see why: all four tires were slashed and flattened, the radio in the dashboard gutted and strewn across the gravel. 

“How did someone -” George grabbed Alex by the arm and pulled him away from the officer, who was trying to salvage his radio. “How does someone manage to do this kind of damage without being seen?” he asked. 

“The kids are all at the lake,” Alex shrugged. “Gilbert is with them. The only reason I saw this was because I checked to make sure lunch was ready.” 

“Take the Officer Tallmadge to the phone,” George instructed. “Make sure he can call his superiors to get another car over here.” 

Alex frowned. “You two seem far closer; take him to the phone, I’m going to check on Gilbert.” 

***

“Come on, we’re going to get caught,” Thomas whined, stumbling behind Anna and Abe as they trudged forward through the woods. “They said to stay at the lake.”

“Come on, Tommy,” Anna said, turning around and reaching for his wrist. “Are you going to play by the rules the whole time you’re here?” 

Thomas turned his gaze to his brother, who was staring at Anna like he was mesmerized. He rolled his eyes. “Look, unlike you, I’m not here for doing anything wrong.” 

“Papa Woodhull says you two are bad boys, so you must have done something,” her tone was almost mocking, but Thomas knew Anna well enough to know she was mocking his father and not him. He shrugged, allowing Anna to keep walking. He followed behind her, his eyes on the protruding tree roots. They had gotten far enough away from the lake for the splashing and talking to have faded away into nothing more than whispers. 

After what happened the night before, the silence was more terrifying than noise. 

“We didn’t do anything,” he protested weakly, as if Anna cared. “He told everyone we were doing drugs, but we were really just caught partying when he didn’t want us to. Our drug tests came back clean.” 

“He made you take drug tests?” Anna exclaimed, her laughter almost knocking her off balance. 

“Did we really come out here to discuss the intricate parenting styles of Richard Woodhull?” Abe huffed. “I thought you said your friend hid some booze out here for you.” 

“He did,” Anna insisted. “It’s just a little farther.” 

Thomas didn’t say anything; he knew it was pointless. When Anna wanted something, she got it. Abe was powerless to defy her, and he wanted to stay close to his brother, especially after Patience. 

“What the hell is this?” Anna asked, her progress forward suddenly stopped. “Do you recognize this?” 

In front of her was a pack, something a hiker would wear. It looked familiar, but Thomas couldn’t place it. Before he could speak, Anna kneeled in front of it, pulling the bag toward herself, and opened one of the zippers. “Mostly water, protein bars, sunscreen,” she rattled off, rifling through it. 

“Isn’t that Cyrus’s bag?” Abe asked. 

“Who the fuck is Cyrus?” Anna asked, opening the other zipper. “Wait,” she pulled her hand back, letting the bag fall to the ground. “Is this…?” 

Her hand was red, covered in what Thomas immediately recognized as blood. He grabbed Abe’s shoulder as his brother moved toward Anna with concern. 

“We have to go,” he insisted. “Let’s go back to the lake.” 

“Wait, what if Cyrus is hurt?” Anna asked. “You want to just leave him out here?” 

“We can get Gilbert, he’ll find him,” Thomas said, yanking Abe back the way they came. “Let’s go.”

“I’m going to find Cyrus,” Anna said sternly. “Abe?” 

“Abe,” Thomas repeated. “Come on.” 

Abe stared between his brother and Anna, who had knelt down to rummage through Cyrus’s bag again, this time feeling it for blood. It had soaked into the ground, deep beneath some falling leaves that had managed to cover up the carnage. 

“What the fuck…” she said, using her foot to brush the leaves out of the way. Thomas had just decided to ignore her when she started screaming, the sound rough from all the cigarettes she smoked on the bus ride over. 

Abe immediately rushed to her side, and Thomas followed. Cyrus’s body was covered by the leaves; they could only see part of his face and his bloody ribcage, half-exposed by Anna’s careless sweeping. His skin was marbled white from the chill that was coming off the mountains, but the blood on the inside of his lips was still dark red. 

“We have to go,” Thomas insisted. “Now. Abe, grab Anna.” 

He turned away, content to lead them through the woods and back to safety, and only managed to register a dark green hunting shirt for a split second before his body was full of agony. He could hear, distantly, Abe and Anna screaming, but it sounded like screams thrown into the raging waters of the sea. 

“Thomas!” 

He knew, in the absent way he always imagined an animal hit by a car must, that he was dying. But still, he looked down at the blade sticking out of his abdomen like he was surprised it was there. The pale hand around the hilt twisted and yanked the blade out, and as he fell, he looked up into the eyes of what he assumed was a vengeful god. His eyes were clear and blue, like the lake. 

***

The man turned to Anna and Abe, frozen and screaming, the blade dripping into the leaves in a steady rhythm. It was like watching dynamite go off; the moment his eyes landed on them, Abe bolted, yanked Anna along behind him. She stumbled, tripping over a tree root. He wanted to commit the man’s face to memory, the mask he wore over his face that didn’t quite conceal his red hair, his sharp blue eyes, the tight grip on the huge, ragged blade. Instead he tried to pull Anna up, screaming for her to get up, get up, run! 

The man grabbed her by the ankle and yanked, her body sliding easily over the blood-slicked leaves. She started sobbing, her voice cracking and breaking with it. Abe grabbed her arm and tried to pull her up, tears streaming down his face, but before he could right her, the man sunk the blade into her calf, her resulting scream high pitched and frantic. Her tears mingled with the blood smeared on her face, the resulting paths a dark pink.

“Anna, come on,” he grabbed her under the arm and hauled her up. There were footsteps coming, the sound of people crashing through the underbrush that didn’t bother hiding themselves. He paused, squinting through the trees to find them. 

Anna used all of her strength to lunge forward, her leg protesting in pain. She felt Abe’s hand release her and she stumbled, her hands landing on the ground but refusing to fall. She hobbled forward a few more feet, her sobs propelling her. 

But...he should have gotten her by now…

She turned back, even though her instincts were telling her not to. But there was no one; Thomas’s body was still there, and Cyrus. But Abe...Abe was gone. And so was the killer. Where could he have gone? He was right behind her, Abe’s hand was just on her arm. She sobbed again, pulling in a sharp breath of air that burned her lungs. 

There was no way...

“Abe?” she shrieked into trees. The sound of thundering footsteps answered her, and she turned in time to see Gilbert and Alex shove their way through the underbrush to her. She threw herself into Alex’s arms, screaming, crying for Abe, Thomas, and Cyrus. 

“Where - Anna - listen to me, where are they?” Alex asked as the campers started to come in behind him. “Where did they go?” 

“Thomas and Cyrus - they’re - and Abe -” 

But she was incoherent, and Alex had to pass her to Bradford, who took her into his arms like a groom would a bride, and carried her away from the woods, no matter how much she screamed, no matter how much blood she left behind. 

***

“Why the hell were you out there alone?” Mary was furious, her blonde hair was drying into a ball of fluff; the more she ran her hands through it in exasperation, the more the curls expanded. “What in the hell were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking my friend hid some tequila out there for us, and I thought we could have a party,” Anna groaned, shifting her leg on the pillow. “I thought we could do something fun to remember Patience by.” 

“You wanted a party, Anna, not a memorial,” Mary sneered. “Don’t delude yourself.” 

“Fine, I wanted a drink, what is so wrong with that?” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Mary screeched. “What’s - are you seriously - what’s wrong with that is three more people are dead because you wanted a drink.” 

“We don’t know that Abe is dead,” Anna insisted, trying to ignore the way her chest hurt with guilt. 

Mary turned back to her, arms crossed. “You’re smarter than that,” she scolded. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” 

“Yeah, I almost was, thanks,” Anna retorted sharply. 

Mary turned back to her like she had another rebuttal ready, but something in Anna’s face stopped her. She perched herself on the edge of Anna’s bed and sighed. “Look, I know everyone thought what happened to Patience was a freak thing, but it obviously wasn’t. Next time you think about doing something reckless, at least warn me so I can go with you.” 

“I don’t know why you want to know,” Anna shrugged, wiping away a stray tear. “It’s not like I was helpful to Abe and Thomas out there.” 

Mary smiled weakly. “I was thinking more so I could protect you, but if you want to still be Tomb Raider, I guess I can’t argue with that.” 

***

Ben stood in the doorway of George’s living room, his arms crossed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Washington, but your phone lines are cut, my car is unusable, and your Jeep has no gas. There’s no way we can get to town without putting everyone at risk for several hours.” 

George sighed. “So what do we do?” 

Ben shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “We unlock that shed full of weapons,” he said earnestly. “Arm your campers. They’re going to get picked off one-by-one if we aren’t careful.” He paused, looking around the room. “In fact, move them all into one room so they can stay safe. We barricade ourselves in, and just wait it out.” 

“Wait it out until what, exactly?” George asked, exasperated. “No one even knows we need help.” 

“My superior officers should have noticed by now that I haven’t reported back,” Ben said. “Hopefully by tomorrow they’ll send someone else to come look for me.”

“And if not?” George asked, clenching his jaw and looking up at him. “What do we do then?” 

“Look,” Ben took the seat beside George, his voice quiet, “At least one Woodhull boy is dead, along with two others. We need to start being preventative instead of reactionary. I’m going to get the campers and counselors and move them into this house, and you need to talk to their father.” 

“Benjamin,” George called as Ben got up. “I’m sorry you got stuck with us.”

Ben tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay. This is what I signed up for.” 

George stood, mirroring Ben’s posture. “Well, still.” 

“Besides, George, I wouldn’t trust anyone else protecting you and those kids but me.” 

***

Ben had to clench his shaking hands as the door to George’s cabin slammed shut behind him. Truthfully, he was glad he was here to protect the campers and George, but he certainly didn’t feel confident in his abilities. The worst he had to deal with before this was parking tickets at the General Store near the station. 

The door to the boy’s cabin was wide open when he got there, and immediately his instincts went into overdrive. Something wasn’t right here; there was only one boy left, an arrogant, irritating man named Bradford. 

“Bradford?” Ben called tentatively. “Hello?” A muffled sound came back to him, too faint for him to make it out.

No one answered him, and Ben was forced to grab his flashlight from his belt to see into the darkened room. In a rush, his hand fumbled for the light switch. He flicked it up. Nothing. 

He scrambled for his gun, shining the flashlight into the room. He could feel the shaking in his hands start again; he tightened his grip around the firearm to steady them. The room was almost painfully cold, the door at the back of the room was open, creating a steady current of cold wind. 

“Bradford?” he called again. 

His flashlight landed on a shoe, suspended on the wall. He followed the shoe up a leg, to a torso, to the bloody face of William Bradford. The light seemed to give him renewed strength, and he squirmed against the gag around his mouth. But as he struggled, more blood poured from wounds in his shoulders, where something had been forced through him to suspend him from the wall. 

Next to him, hanging the exact same way, was the body of Abraham Woodhull, his skin tinged gray from hours in the cold. Ben rushed to Bradford’s side, trying as he ran to figure out what to do. He grabbed the boy around the waist and lifted, trying to ease the pressure on the wounds in his shoulder, but the boy didn’t move. He shrieked against the bonds before whimpering quietly, his voice already hoarse and broken. 

Ben tried to brace himself on the floor to lift again, his boot sliding in what he realized now was a lot of blood, sticky and spreading across the floor. 

There was no way Bradford would survive. 

***

“What were they doing out in the woods with Anna Strong anyway?” Richard had asked the question several times already, several different ways. George no longer had any new ways of telling him that they didn’t know, no one knew, but it didn’t matter. Abe was missing, Thomas was dead. 

“We’re going to bring everyone into my cabin,” George said soothingly as the man sobbed again. “It’s safer there, and it’s the most secure. Let’s get everything we can use as a weapon from the shed and go hole up. We should have help by tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I am not - not - barricading myself in a room with Anna Strong,” Richard complained, turning away from George to wipe his eyes again. “She’s the reason my Thomas is dead.” 

“I’m not going to let you stay out here to die because you’re angry,” George insisted. “I know that you’re my partner, but in this respect, you’re my employee. So,” he put his hands on Richard’s shoulders. “This is an order.” 

***

By the time George made it back to his cabin, everyone was already inside; Gilbert and Alex had brought all of the possible weapons from the shed into the kitchen, Ben was standing at the sink, washing his hands. He could see them through the window, and for a moment, it looked picturesque. A family stitched together with compassion and checkered pasts, but a family nonetheless. 

He smiled, just for a moment, before a hand closed on his shoulder. He whirled around in time to see bright blue eyes before the knife caught him in the shoulder.

Years ago, George had been in the army; he had been shot in the leg once, and the burning pain that followed never left his brain. This was a different, sharp and cold kind of pain that paralyzed him. He could do nothing but try to swing with his other arm. 

He didn’t scream; he gritted his teeth and swung again, this time catching the killer around the jaw. The man grunted and took the hit but didn’t fall. George considered yelling for Ben, Ben had a gun, Ben with his reassurances, but what if Ben was wrong? What if all that did was send this man into the cabin, where everyone thought they were safe? 

No; he would kill this man here or he would die here. That was the only way this was going to end. 

“George!” The sound echoed throughout the silent camp. The killer paused for a moment, long enough to look back toward the sound, to Richard, and George lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. But his arm was bleeding freely, and it was all too easy for the man to get up and grab his knife again, bright and red in the light of the moon. 

“Richard, run,” George shouted. 

A gunshot rang through the night; startling George and Richard into movement. George pulled himself up and started to run toward the cabin, Richard’s footsteps a welcome comfort behind him. 

“Get inside,” he shouted to Ben, who was trying to aim again. “Get everyone inside!” 

Alex, in the doorway, grabbed Mary around the arm and yanked her inside. Ben kept his eyes on the killer, following Richard and George to the cabin. 

“Get inside!” George screamed. 

A thud behind him gave him pause, but before he could stop to see what it was, Ben’s hand reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him up the stairs and into the cabin. Gilbert, behind the door, slammed it shut and locked it, leaning against it to exhale a relieved breath. 

But someone was missing. 

“What about Richard?” George asked. “Where’s Richard?” 

Alex dropped his gaze to the floor. George stared at him, daring him not to meet his eye. “What happened to Richard?” he asked again. 

“He - he fell,” Ben stammered. 

“He fell?” George repeated incredulously. “Open the door then, we have to let him in.” 

No one moved. 

“Let him in!” he shouted. “He saved my life, you open that fucking door and let him in now!” 

“George,” Alex’s hand landed on George’s good arm, but George threw it off. “He’s gone.” 

No one spoke; George could feel the pain in his arm intensify for a moment before it faded. He turned to Ben, his eyes dark red and full of tears. “And Bradford?” 

Ben lowered his gaze and shook his head. “The Woodhull boy too.” 

“We’re all that’s left,” Gilbert said into the silence.


End file.
